Chapter 7 - The First Move
The morning light never came for her-not really.
The room stayed dim, shadows curling in the
corners like living things, stretching and bending
as if they were breathing. The curtains were
drawn tight, sealing her away from the world
beyond the walls. She lay still on the massive
bed, the silk sheets cool against her skin, the
unfamiliar ceiling staring back at her like a silent
witness.
Her fingers curled around the feather.
It was warm.
That alone made her breath hitch.
She hadn't imagined it. She was Sure now. The
feather pulsed faintly in her palm, a slow, steady
rhythm that echoed her heartbeat. Each throb
sent a strange sensation up her arm, not painful
-just... aware. As if something on the other end
knew she was awake.
She swallowed hard and sat up.
The room responded.
Not with sound--but with pressure. The air felt
heavier, thicker, like the space itself was
listening. The candle on the bedside table
flickered though there was no wind. Shadows
shifted again, longer now, reaching toward her
feet.
"Get a grip," she whispered.
Her voice sounded too small.
She placed the feather back on the table
deliberately, pushing it farther away than
necessary. Distance, she told herself. Control.
Whatever this place was, whatever he was, she
would not unravel on the first morning.
A soft knock came at the door.
Her heart leapt straight into her throat.
Before she could answer, the door opened
slowly.
It wasn't Lucien.
A woman stepped in-tal, composed, her dark
hair pulled back tightly. She wore a simple black
dress, her expression unreadable but not unkind.
Her eyes flicked briefly to the feather, then back
to her face.
"You are awake," the woman said calmly. "Good."
"Who are you?" she asked, drawing the sheet
tighter around herself.
"Seraphine," the woman replied. "| oversee the
household"
Of course you do, she thought bitterly.
Seraphine gestured toward the adjoining room.
"You are expected downstairs in one hour.
Breakfast will be prepared. You are free to bathe
and dress as you wish."
"Expected by who?" she asked, though she
already knew the answer.
Seraphine's lips curved just slightly. "By the man
who owns this house."
The words hit harder than she expected.
Owns.
Before she could respond, Seraphine turned and
left, closing the door silently behind her.
She sat there for several seconds, staring at the
space the woman had occupied, her chest rising
and falling too quickly. Then she swung her legs
off the bed and stood.
If she was going to face him, she would do it
standing tall.
The bath was already drawn, steam curling
upward, the scent of something floral and dark
filling the air. She sank into the water slowly,
letting the heat seep into her muscles, trying to
wash away the lingering fear clinging to her skin.
But fear wasn't all she felt.
There was something else beneath it.
Curiosity.
And that frightened her more.
She dressed simply-black again, because it
seemed this house allowed no other color-and
followed the long corridors down to the dining
room. Each step echoed too loudly, reminding
her how alone she was here.
Lucien was already seated when she entered.
He didn't look up at first.
He was dressed impeccably, as always, dark hair
faling loosely around his face, one hand resting
casually on the table. Power radiated from him
without effort, like heat from a fire that didn't
need to announce itself.
"Sit" he said quietly.
She did.
Only then did he lift his gaze to her.
His eyes held hers with unsettling ease, as if he
had been waiting all night for this moment. There
was no hunger in them-no anger either. Just
intention.
"You slept" he said.
"I didn't have much choice" she replied.
A corner of his mouth twitched. "You always
have a choice."
She scoffed softly. "That's funny."
Lucien leaned back in his chair, studying her.
"You believe this arrangement makes you
powerless"
"It doesnt?" she challenged.
"No" he said smoothly. "It makes you valuable."
She stiffened.
"I did not bring you here to break you," he
continued. "If that were my goal, it would already
be done."
Her fingers curled in her lap.
"Then why am I here?" she asked.
Lucien leaned forward slightly, his voice
dropping. "Because you were offered. And
because you accepted."
The truth of it stung more than she wanted to
admit.
Silence stretched between them.
Then he stood.
She tensed instinctively, but he merely walked
past her, close enough that she could feel the
brush of his presence, the faint scent of smoke
and something darker.
"The first rule," he said behind her, "is simple.!"
She turned slowly.
"You do not touch what is not given."
Her eyes flicked to the feather, which now lay on
the table between them-she hadn't noticed
when it got there.
"And the second?" she asked.
Lucien's gaze locked onto hers, unblinking.
"You will learn that not all cages are made of
iron."
Her breath caught.
"This," he finished calmly, "was my first move."
And she knew, deep in her bones, that the game
had already begun.